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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829471">Sweet Surprise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock'>DoctorTrekLock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Cas loves Dean, Dean Loves Pie, Dean also loves Cas, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Getting Together, Kidfic, Kissing, M/M, Pie, Playing House, a pie and kisses triptych, fluffdefenseforce, it works out, just fluff, oodles of fluff, seriously, sort of a triptych</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:21:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pie and kisses. That's it. That's the fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Surprise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Do you remember March? Like, mid-March 2020? When we were all just starting to go into quarantine, and we knew it would be rough, but we'd get through it? Such young, optimistic children we were. During that period, I saw a post on tumblr - <a href="https://ao3commentoftheday.tumblr.com/post/612764526728871936/hakaseheart-on-twitter">this post</a>, in fact - hoping for a lot of fluff fics to help us get through the dark days ahead.</p>
<p>When I was working on my <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1275806">Res19</a> last year, I amassed a long list of prompts that I never ended up writing anything for. One of those was "Kissed you while playing house," based on a line from <a href="https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/116874040997/ridiculous-sentence-prompts">this</a> prompt list. When I decided to write something fluffy for the fluffdefenseforce, I figured that would be a nice, lighthearted option.</p>
<p>I started this fic in March, then I was slowly editing it with help from my beta ImprobableDreams900 in April and May. We're now watching June fade out, and it seems like March is so far away as to be a fever dream. No matter what's happening, I think it's still just as true that we could really use some "fluffy cushioning" in our world right now. Enjoy. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It'll be fun, Dean! I promise. Just ask him if he wants to play with you.”</p>
<p>Dean looked at the boy across the room dubiously, and then back over at his mother. Apparently going to kindergarten meant playing with people who weren't her or Sammy. Dean was still skeptical about the whole thing.</p>
<p>Mom, on the other hand, seemed to be certain he was going to have fun. She smiled and encouragingly shooed Dean toward the other boy. He turned reluctantly back toward his potential playmate, a toy truck clutched tightly in his hands.</p>
<p>The boy wasn't any bigger than Dean, with dark hair that stuck up in the back and a blue shirt with bumblebees on it. He was bent over a piece of paper and was diligently coloring in a picture. Bumblebees were cool. Maybe the boy would be nice.</p>
<p>There were other boys and girls playing with blocks and coloring and clustering around the sand table, but there wasn't anyone by the boy with the bumblebee shirt.</p>
<p>Dean walked over him and roughly stuck the toy in his hand into the boy's face. “Do-you-want-to-play-with-me?” he asked in a rush.</p>
<p>The boy dropped his green crayon to take the toy Dean was handing him. He carefully turned the yellow dump truck over in his hands, his eyebrows scrunched together. “I don't like trucks,” he said definitively after a moment.</p>
<p>Dean whirled to look at his mother, but she was sitting and talking to the other moms. He sighed loudly, the way Dad did sometimes. Now what was he supposed to do?</p>
<p>“I do want to play with you though,” the boy continued. He looked up at Dean with deep blue eyes.</p>
<p>“My name's Dean,” Dean told him, sticking out his right hand determinedly.</p>
<p>“I'm Cas,” the other boy told him, grabbing his hand with his left, so they were less shaking hands and more holding hands.</p>
<p>That didn't bother Dean. “C'mon,” he said, pulling Cas to his feet. “Let's go find something else to do.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Cas agreed, leaving his coloring and the truck behind on the carpet.</p>
<p>Dean led them to the middle of the play area. He turned in a wide circle. “Ummmm,” he said. “We could play with the cars,” he said, pointing to a collection of Matchbox cars in a basket that no one else was playing with yet.</p>
<p>Cas shook his head, and Dean deflated slightly. “Well, what do you wanna do, then?” he asked.</p>
<p>Cas looked around for a moment. “We could play house,” he suggested, pointing at the small kitchen set that was similarly untouched.</p>
<p>Dean hesitated for a moment, looking longingly at the Matchbox cars, but when Cas tugged on his hand he followed. “Can we make a pie?” he asked.</p>
<p>Cas nodded sharply. “Cranberry pie.”</p>
<p>Dean laughed. “That's silly. Apple pie.”</p>
<p>“Strawberry,” Cas compromised, starting to take stock of the plastic utensils and bowls at their disposal.</p>
<p>“Strawberry,” Dean agreed, grabbing a knife and starting to pull invisible strawberries out of the small, plastic grocery basket. “With lots of whipped cream on top.”</p>
<p>Cas agreed, and they got to work. It didn't take them long to cut up the right number of strawberries. Dean made sure to make careful, even movements so his slices would be neat and consistent. Cas, apparently, did not have any such compulsions, as his plastic knife kept hitting the board at uneven angles. Dean kept his grumbling to himself. It was Cas's first time making invisible strawberry pie, after all, and some things took practice.</p>
<p>When Cas started heaping sliced strawberries into the pie pan, however, Dean had to put his foot down. “We need crust first, silly!”</p>
<p>Cas hesitated and looked down at the pie pan uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Here,” Dean said, taking the pie pan from him. “We can put the strawberries over here—” he poured them back onto the spot where the rest of the invisible pile was “—and then we can make a crust. Then we can put the strawberries back afterwards.”</p>
<p>The other boy watched the pie pan warily. “I don't know how to make crust.”</p>
<p>“It's easy,” Dean said firmly. “I'll show you.” He moved the two knives off the small counter space and started sprinkling pretend flour across it, just like Mom did when she made pie.</p>
<p>“You have to use lots of flour,” Dean confided in Cas. “Otherwise it sticks, and that's not good.” He looked around and grabbed a random bowl they hadn't used. “This is the dough.” He carefully pulled an invisible clump of pie crust dough out of the bowl and plopped it down on the counter. “I don't know how to make crust,” he whispered to Cas. “So we'll just pretend I did it. Then,” he continued louder, “You have to roll out the crust.”</p>
<p>One of the physical pieces in the kitchen - in addition to knives, bowls, and a pie pan - was a rolling pin, which Dean showed off with a flourish. “This part's easy,” he told Cas. “You just roll it back and forth over the dough until it's big enough for the pie pan.”</p>
<p>“Can I try?” Cas asked.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Dean agreed easily, handing over the rolling pin. “Just hold the handles and roll it back and forth.”</p>
<p>Cas pressed the rolling pin down gingerly onto the counter. Then he started hesitantly moving it back and forth.</p>
<p>“Yes!” Dean said. “Just like that.”</p>
<p>Emboldened, Cas's movements became bigger and quicker, until the rolling pie was flying back and forth, the plastic of the rolling pin slip-sliding against the plastic of the counter.</p>
<p>“I think it's big enough,” Dean said. “If you roll it too much, it'll get thin,” he told Cas, repeating what his own mother had told him the three times she'd let him help make pie crust. “And if it gets thin, it will break. And then your pie crust won't work.”</p>
<p>Cas obediently slowed to a stop. “Now what?”</p>
<p>He looked at Dean expectantly. Dean hesitated. He looked at the pie pan. “Now there's magic,” he said.</p>
<p>“Magic?” Cas repeated.</p>
<p>“Magic,” Dean confirmed. “That's how the crust gets in the pie pan. 'S magic.”</p>
<p>“Okaaay,” Cas agreed slowly, setting down the rolling pin. “Magic.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Dean said. “Let me show you.” He reached across Cas for the discarded pie pan. “Here.” He took the empty pie pan and set it on the counter in the middle of where Cas had been rolling. Then he mimed rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles. He glanced at Cas.</p>
<p>Cas watched him with wide eyes.</p>
<p>Dean waved his hands over the top of the pie pan. “Presto-change-o…” He wracked his brains for more magic words and found another one his mom said while making pie crust. “…Crisco!” He picked up the pie pan and presented it to Cas. “The crust is done!”</p>
<p>Cas looked suitably impressed. “Tha's cool! Now what?”</p>
<p>“Now we put the strawberries back in it,” Dean told him.</p>
<p>Cas reached over to where they had left their pile of cut of strawberries and mimed grabbing handfuls, which he heaped into the pie pan. “There,” he said. “Then what?”</p>
<p>“Then the pie goes in the oven for a while, and then it's done!” Dean reached out to pull the door to the oven down, but Cas was in the way. Dean pushed him gently. Cas grabbed the pie pan and backed up quickly, letting Dean pull the door open. “Right in there.”</p>
<p>Cas slid the pie pan onto the plastic rack carefully, and Dean shut the oven door. “There,” Cas declared. “And now it cooks for…” He hummed thoughtfully at the sticker of a timer that was stuck to the plastic backsplash.</p>
<p>“Twenty minutes!” Dean told him.</p>
<p>Cas wrinkled his nose. “Three minutes,” he argued.</p>
<p>“Pie's supposed to bake for twenty,” Dean insisted.</p>
<p>“It's a small pie,” Cas said. Then, “It's done now.”</p>
<p>Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, meaning his whole head swiveled in a circle, but pulled the oven door open so Cas could reach in with oven mitts and pull the pie out.</p>
<p>“Mmm,” Cas said. “It smells good!” He reached for the pie server, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.</p>
<p>“Whipped cream,” he reminded Cas.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes,” Cas said. He mimed spraying a can of whipped cream over the top of the pie. “Now it's done?”</p>
<p>“Perfect!” Dean exclaimed. He pulled Cas into a hug and pressed his mouth against the other boy's cheek. “It's perfect, Cas!”</p>
<p>Cas smiled widely. “Let's have pie.”</p>
<p>Dean grinned back and brandished the pie server. “Yeah!”</p>
<p>Dean dished up two servings of strawberry pie with whipped cream, and they quickly tucked in. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe kindergarten wasn't going to be so bad after all.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Cas stood in front of his locker and ran through his schedule in his head, ignoring the bustle of movement behind him. He'd done his English reading in study hall; he had all of next week to finish that Civil War presentation; gym and choir didn't have homework; which left—</p>
<p>“Hey, Cas,” Dean called. Cas could hear him hurrying the last couple of steps down the hallway toward him as the other students streamed past them, eager to get out of the building. “You're still planning on coming over and helping babysit Sammy, right?”</p>
<p>Cas nodded but didn't look up from his locker, still focused on sorting through his textbooks. Decision made, he slid half of them back on the shelf and stuffed the other two into his backpack. “Yeah,” he said, straightening up and meeting Dean's eyes. “I've got to study for that mitosis quiz for bio, and I need to start on those systems of equations problems Mr. Singer gave us, but I can do that at your house.”</p>
<p>“Awesome.” Dean did a small fist pump. “Dad doesn't know yet, but Mom booked them a room at a hotel near the show, so they won't be home until tomorrow. We'll have the house to ourselves. And,” he continued smugly. “Dad finally finished the detailing on the Corvette he was gonna give Mom for their anniversary, so <em>I</em>—” He dangled a set of keys in the air. “—got to drive Baby to school today.”</p>
<p>The jangle of the keys was almost as bright as Dean's smile, and Cas felt something warm and cozy curl up inside him at the sight. He hadn't seen Dean much lately, now that Lisa and Cassie were cheering at football games, and he'd missed spending time with his best friend.</p>
<p>“So.” Dean hitched his backpack higher up on his shoulder. “Wha'daya say, Cas? You want a ride?”</p>
<p>The excitement in his grin was contagious, and Cas found himself beaming back. “Sounds good to me.”</p>
<p>The drive to Dean's house was filled with Cas's criticism of John Winchester's box of cassettes and Dean's wholehearted complaining about said criticism. But seriously, what was Cas supposed to do, <em>not</em> comment on the aharmonious cacophony of screeching guitars and abused drums that poured out of the speakers as soon as Dean turned the engine over?</p>
<p>“C'mon, Cas,” Dean implored loudly over the so-called <em>music</em>. “It's classic!” He started gently headbanging to the thumping bass line.</p>
<p>Cas wrinkled his nose and turned the volume down.</p>
<p>The good-natured bickering carried them all the way through the front door of the small, mid-century home and into the kitchen, where Cas dropped his backpack next to one of the ladder-back chairs. The kitchen was the center of the Winchester house, and Cas had spent enough time sitting at the worn table puzzling over homework with Dean to have a customary seat.</p>
<p>Dean dropped heavily into his own seat across from Cas but made no motion to pull out any homework.</p>
<p>Cas raised an eyebrow at him as he started copying over the first problem of his algebra homework into his notebook. “Don't you have work to do, too?” he asked pointedly.</p>
<p>Dean waved him off. “I can do that later.” His face lit up a moment later and he leaned forward in his chair. “We should make pie!”</p>
<p>Cas rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “We've got, what, an hour and a half before we need to pick up Sam? Wouldn't you rather get all your work done <em>now</em>?”</p>
<p>“Nah,” Dean said eagerly, already getting to his feet and pushing up his sleeves. “We've got all weekend to do math, Cas. Let's spend our last few precious moments of Sammy-free time making pie.”</p>
<p>Cas huffed in amusement, but stuck his notebook in his textbook to save his place and closed the book over it. “It's always pie with you, isn't it, Dean?” he asked. “You just want to make sure you get a slice before Sam eats it all,” he teased.</p>
<p>“With good reason!” Dean insisted, starting to pull flour and sugar out of the pantry. “He ate five tacos last night, Cas. <em>Five</em>.”</p>
<p>“And when you were thirteen you ate a pizza and a half by yourself,” Cas pointed out, grabbing a glass pie pan and a pair of mixing bowls.</p>
<p>“They were small pizzas!” Dean protested, emerging from the pantry with an armful of assorted containers.</p>
<p>“Not that small,” Cas said dryly, preheating the oven.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Dean muttered.</p>
<p>He turned to wash his hands in the sink as Cas hummed over the ingredients Dean had laid out. “Pecan?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Dean agreed, drying his hands. “We don't have any fruit and I don't want to deal with meringue right now.”</p>
<p>Cas nodded sharply and turned to wash his hands as well.</p>
<p>The pie came together quickly after that. They had made more pies in that kitchen than Cas could remember. First under the watchful eye of Mary Winchester, then by themselves. They'd come a long way from banging ineffectively on dough at the table so they could pretend they were helping, Cas reflected, smiling faintly at the memory.</p>
<p>No matter how bad Cas's day had been, or how much his older brothers picked on him, there was always a certain tranquility to be found standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean at the counter of the Winchester kitchen.</p>
<p>As usual, the familiar work was calming, the rhythm soothing. Dean rolled the dough evenly with a practiced hand, while Cas pulled the filling together with an ease born of repetition. Within minutes, the pie was stowed safely in the oven, and Cas was putting the last few ingredients away while Dean wiped the last traces of flour from the counter.</p>
<p>“There,” Dean said in satisfaction, tossing the cloth into the sink.</p>
<p>“And now we wait,” Cas said, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Dean agreed, settling next to him so their elbows just brushed. “'S the worst part of baking.”</p>
<p>“It'll be worth it though,” Cas told him. “After all,” he added smugly. “We made it.”</p>
<p>Dean laughed gently. “Yeah, we do good work.”</p>
<p>His hand came up behind Cas to clasp him on the opposite shoulder, but before Cas could react to the unexpected side-hug, Dean had pulled him closer and kissed him on the cheek.</p>
<p>Cas froze.</p>
<p>The laughter died in Dean's throat as he seemed to realize what he'd done. He dropped his arm and shuffled back a few steps, almost tripping over his feet. “Sor-sorry, Cas,” he stammered. “I didn't—I—”</p>
<p>Heart pounding, Cas reached out and put a hand on Dean's arm, stopping him. Dean's apologies fizzled out and he seemed to stop breathing. His eyes were wide and apprehensive.</p>
<p>Cas was sure he had to look absolutely floored. But with his cheek still tingling ever so faintly from where Dean had kissed him, he abruptly realized three things.</p>
<p>One, Dean had kissed him. Dean had <em>kissed</em> him. <em>Dean</em> had kissed <em>him</em>. His best friend in the world had kissed him <em>while making pie</em>. Which they did <em>together</em>. A<em> lot</em>.</p>
<p>Two, Cas <em>liked</em> it. He had known Dean Winchester for twelve years and was only now realizing why he got so mad when Dean blew off Star Wars marathons to hang out with the cheerleaders. He <em>liked it</em> when Dean kissed him. He wanted to be the <em>only</em> person Dean kissed. The only person Dean would <em>ever</em> kiss.</p>
<p>Three, Cas wanted to do it again.</p>
<p>So he did. He used the hand on Dean's arm to tug the other teen closer. Dean came, stumbling forward, eyes still wide with disbelief. Then Cas leaned in and leaned up (damn that last growth spurt) and kissed Dean gently on the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>He pulled away slowly and heard Dean's breathing stutter. Cas settled back on his heels and watched, enraptured, as a red flush slowly rolled across Dean's face.</p>
<p>“I, uh…” Dean trailed off, nervously licking his lips. Cas felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Somehow, <em>he</em> had been the one to put that look on Dean's face. It was a heady thought.</p>
<p>Cas tore his gaze away from Dean's lips and glanced at the timer. “We've got twenty-five minutes?” he offered. </p>
<p>Dean considered this for a moment, pink still high on his cheeks and green eyes dazzlingly bright. He was somehow the most breathtaking thing Cas had ever seen and yet exactly the same Dean he had been ten minutes ago when they'd made pie together and half an hour ago when they'd argued about music and twelve years ago when he'd handed Cas a yellow toy truck. “Wanna make out?”</p>
<p>Yes, yes he did.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“Cas!”</p>
<p>Cas sighed fondly as the call echoed around their house.</p>
<p>“CAS!”</p>
<p>He raised a single amused eyebrow that no one saw and continued methodically wiping the water off the last of the silverware he had just finished washing.</p>
<p>“Cas! Dammit, Castiel, where are—”</p>
<p>Dean barreled around the corner into the kitchen. His dress shirt was half-buttoned, the tails hanging loose. “Oh, there you are.” He looked relieved. “Cas, where have you been, man? I've been calling for you.”</p>
<p>“I've been right here, Dean. Pretending I didn't hear you calling, because—” He slid the spoon into its proper place and shut the drawer before turning and giving Dean a pointed look. “—I know you know better than to shout.” He did. It was on the laminated list of house rules taped to the front of the fridge.</p>
<p>Dean huffed impatiently and starting stuffing the tails of his shirt into his slacks. “Sorry. I just…” He sighed and held out a hand. A red tie hung limply from his fingers. “Could you help with this? Mason and Kaia should be here soon and I want to make a good impression.”</p>
<p>“You do clean up nicely,” Cas told him, letting his eyes wander up and down the visage before him. “A little disheveled at the moment, but you'll do.” He tossed the dry cloth in his hands onto the counter and stepped forward into Dean's space. He let his fingers trail down the open front of the shirt to Dean's belt before starting to finish up the buttons.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Dean said softly, his hands naturally falling to Cas's waist. He rubbed his thumbs gently over the curves of Cas's sides, feeling the warmth of his husband's skin through the fabric of his own neatly buttoned dress shirt.</p>
<p>“Hey, yourself,” Cas replied warmly. He fastened the last button and took the tie out of Dean's hand. Within a few practiced motions, he was snugging a perfect half-Windsor up to Dean's throat.</p>
<p>“There,” Cas said, a little breathless, smoothing the line of Dean's tie. “Perfect.”</p>
<p>“So are you,” Dean told him before catching his mouth in a slow, sweet kiss.</p>
<p>One kiss turned into two turned into gripping hands turned into Cas humming and pulling back. “Time, Dean,” he reminded him. “Don't start anything we don't have time to finish.”</p>
<p>Dean groaned loudly and pulled away. “Why did you have to remind me?” he whined. “Now I'm freaking out again.”</p>
<p>“Stop it,” Cas scolded. Then his voice softened. “Don't worry, Dean. It's not like you don't know them. We've had Mason over a dozen times and Kaia's practically lived in our house for the last six years.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” Dean said. “But it's just… It's <em>Prom</em>.”</p>
<p>“And?” Cas raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“And you know what Prom is like.”</p>
<p>“And you know what our girls are like,” Cas pointed out. “They're smart; they'll be fine. And Adam and Gen and all their other friends will be there too.”</p>
<p>Dean bit his lip anxiously, and Cas reached out a hand. Dean took it. “Hey,” Cas said gently. “Let's make a pie.”</p>
<p>Even after all these years, he could still see Dean perk up, a practically Pavlovian response to the word itself. “Really?”</p>
<p>Cas laughed and reeled Dean back in. “I know you don't like to joke about pie. Besides, you could do with some relaxation right now, and we don't have time for…<em>other</em> activities.” He shot Dean a heated look, and could see the other man swallow at the thought.</p>
<p>Dean smoothed a free hand over his chest in an effort to regain some composure and registered the unfamiliar textures of his nice clothes. He visibly deflated. “Aw, Cas, you tease. You know I can't bake in this get-up. You might be able to walk out of this kitchen without a spot, but I'd get it all…floury.”</p>
<p>“Do you remember what I gave you for Christmas when we were seven?” Cas asked with a raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>Dean looked puzzled. “No?”</p>
<p>“Okay. What about for Christmas when we were sixteen? Or for graduation? Or for your twenty-fourth birthday? Or for—”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” Dean said, laughing. “I get it.”</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>“Aprons, Cas.” He smiled. “You got me aprons.”</p>
<p>“I'm not sure why, since you never seem to use them,” Cas said pointedly.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Dean said, pulling Cas even closer and wrapping his arms around him. “I just like getting clean again with you afterwards.”</p>
<p>He leaned down for a kiss, which Cas obliged him with, before breaking it off again.</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” Dean sighed, speaking up before Cas could open his mouth. “Time.”</p>
<p>“Now you're getting it,” Cas smirked. He gave Dean another quick kiss before walking past him to a cupboard and reaching for the pie pans. “What are you thinking?”</p>
<p>Cas could hear Dean hum in thought as he walked into the pantry. “You seem to be the expert on timing, Cas. What do you think?”</p>
<p>“We've still got an hour before Mason and Kaia should be here, which means at least forty minutes until Emma and Claire descend from on high to grace us with their presence.” Cas heard Dean snort in agreement. “I'm thinking a nice sour cream raisin ought to do it.” He glanced casually at the pantry.</p>
<p>Dean stepped out with a puzzled look on his face, bins of flour and sugar in his arms, and a brightly colored Hawaiian print apron around his neck. “Why sour cream raisin?”</p>
<p>“Because, Dean,” Cas said, laying out the bowls and spatulas they'd need. “It's easy to mix, and a sour cream raisin pie will bake in twenty minutes, meaning—” He glanced sideways at Dean. “—that if we hurry, we can get ten glorious minutes of making out on the sofa like teenagers while it's baking before our daughters appear downstairs, and then we'll have a delicious pie to enjoy after they and their dates have left for the evening.”</p>
<p>For a moment Dean didn't move, and then he crossed the kitchen in three steps and set the bins of dry ingredients on the counter with a thud before grabbing Cas and pulling him into a searing kiss. “God, I love you,” he said. “So much.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Cas smiled smugly. “That's why you married me.” And he leaned in for another kiss. “Now let's make some pie.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fic title is from the song "Cherry Pie" by Warrant, btw.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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